A Brit Player (Castle Calder Book 4) Read online

  I wonder how long it takes to stop imagining a life with someone who’s no longer in your life. So far, the answer isn’t six months.

  I don’t get to think about it further as we enter the marquee. It’s been set up as a precaution in case of rain, although the weather is sunny, and the sides are rolled up today. Rows of chairs flank a center aisle, leading to a large platform at the front, which will act as the stage. A few musicians dressed in formal black and white tune their instruments off to the right of the stage, which is a surprise. Based on their attire, they look like classical musicians, which seems totally at odds with a charity dating auction.

  Apparently Tilly thinks the same because she nudges me and whispers, “I think this thing might be classier than I’ve been imagining.”

  I think so, too, and I feel the first twinge of nerves. Aloud I say, “I’m not going out with a man old enough to be my father. I don’t care how much he bids for me. I’m getting serious Bill Nighy vibes right now.”

  “Right?” Tilly’s head swivels around. “The women are young and hot though, so that’s positive.”

  Young, hot, and rich if the amount of bling is anything to go by.

  And white.

  My brown skin makes me feel way more out of place than my costume jewelry because I’m pretty sure I’m the only non-white woman here besides Tilly. It’s not the first time I’ve been in this situation and it won’t be the last, but it makes me long again for my turret room. And Tom. Again. He used to joke that his black skin mixed with my Indian brown skin made the perfect mocha in a world of flat white.

  Unlike earlier, this memory makes me smile a little, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Scarlett. “Hey. There’s the face I want to see. Flash those pearly whites a bit more and you’ll have a bidding war on your hands.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” I feel my smile widen. “Better?”

  “Much better,” says a deep male voice beside me.

  I turn and my smile fades, all of the color draining from my face. My heart races in my chest like a squirrel being chased by a dog. I feel my knees wobble and I reach blindly for something to grab onto. My hand flails until it finds a solid surface and it’s only once I look down, I realize what I’ve done. I’ve grabbed onto him like a lifeline.

  Like he’s not the last person I want to see at a charity auction.

  Like he’s not the last person I want to see. Ever.

  Chapter Three

  I yank my hand away, but it’s too late. I feel him on my skin, the shock radiating from my palm to my chest. It takes superhuman effort not to rub my hands up and down my arms to get rid of the sensation.

  “Tara. You’re looking as gorgeous as ever.” His voice is smooth and low, exactly like I remember.

  “Wow. Hey.” My voice, on the other hand, is high and thin. “What are you doing here?”

  “One of my teammates is on the auction block today, so I’m here for moral support.” I hear the smile in his tone.

  I could never resist that bloody smile and it’s what gets me to glance up now. I immediately wish I didn’t because Max Foster is more handsome now than he was when we were sixteen. His skin is tan and golden, and his light brown hair has blonde streaks through it that make him look like a surfer dude. On anyone else I’d assume they were compliments of some serious salon time, but I know Max well enough to know that they’re one hundred percent natural. I also know Max well enough to know that the way he’s shoving his fingers through said hair means he’s not as unaffected by our unexpected meeting as his body language would have me believe.

  Thank God.

  The realization buoys me enough to slow my heart rate down to this side of frantic and I manage a nod, saying, “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

  “Are you going to introduce us to your friend, Tara?” Scarlett asks.

  It’s a testament to Max Foster’s force field that I’ve completely forgotten Scarlett and what’s-her-name.

  It’s also a testament to Max Foster’s force field that he extends his hand before I get a chance to speak and introduces himself to both Scarlett and Tilly, whose name comes back to me the minute she says it.

  “You look familiar?” Scarlett says. “Do we know each other somehow?”

  “I don’t think so,” Max says, though he peers at Scarlett more closely, like he’s trying to make sure. “Tara and I went to high school together back in the day.”

  “Hmmm.” Scarlett’s brow furrows. “Well, Tara and I were in sixth form together back in the day. Were you…?”

  “Max got recruited to play professional football in Spain right out of high school.” My words come out fast and flat.

  “And Tara never forgave me for actually going.” Max’s smile is easy, but I know his deep brown eyes don’t miss my flinch at his words. Him going to Spain is the least of what I’ve held against him.

  “Who do you play for now?” asks Tilly.

  “I’m at Norcastle,” Max says.

  “Oooh. Impressive, but that Champions League title is useless here. You’re in Manchester territory now,” Tilly says.

  Max laughs and they joke back and forth, giving me a chance to observe him on the down low. Or at least I think it’s on the down low until he turns to me and says, “I can’t believe you’re here. We need to catch up. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

  No. I definitely am not free. Even if I had an empty diary from now until 2050, I’m not free for dinner with Max Foster. But before I can reply, Scarlett interjects, “Tara’s actually one of the dates in today’s auction, so she’s probably booked tonight unless you want to pay to play.”

  I turn to Scarlett, eyes wide. “I don’t think Max is here to bid.”

  “On the contrary. I think I just became a lot more likely to bid,” Max says with a grin. “It’s all for a good cause, right?”

  “Well, there you go. A little motivation is good for everyone.” Scarlett gives a little grin. “It is for a very good cause. Save the Family provides accommodations to families who are homeless or at risk of becoming homeless. They also provide counseling and mentoring services. A lot of the families involved would either have their children taken into care or be living on the street full stop.”

  I steal a glance at Max and he’s nodding in agreement as he asks, “Is it a local organization? Or do they work nationally, as well?”

  “It’s based in Windermere. My mum has been involved with them for ages, which is why we’re hosting the auction.” Scarlett looks around, holding her hands out like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. “You’ve got to admit, it’s an ace venue.”

  “It is, indeed.” Max smiles back at Scarlett and then nods. “I should probably go check on Harris to make sure he’s not got cold feet. I’ll see you out there, T.”

  Then he walks away like the last time we saw each other wasn’t twelve years ago.

  I turn to Scarlett and hiss, “What are you doing? I don’t want him to bid on me.”

  “Uh, no kidding?” says Scarlett, her voice low. “But based on the way your tongue was hanging out of your mouth when you looked at him, that’s exactly why he should.”

  “My tongue was not hanging out of my mouth.” Was it? Fucking hell, it could have been. It always did where Max was concerned.

  “What’s the deal with you two, anyway?” Scarlett says as she waves at Bradley and turns toward our front-row seats.

  “Right?” adds Tilly. “The way you were looking at him…”

  “You dated Tom for over a year and I never saw you look at him that way,” Scarlett says, raising an eyebrow. “Just saying.”

  That’s because I never looked at Tom that way. I’ve never looked at anyone that way except Max Foster.

  If I can help it, I’ll never look at anyone that way again.

  Especially Max Foster.

  Chapter Four

  Twelve Years Ago

  “Oh my God, why is Mr. Cavallini so boring?” I tug at the hem of my grey pleated skirt
to try to pull it back down to knee-length after being rolled up all day at school. If I walk in the house with my skirt mid-thigh, my father will have me wearing a sari in ten seconds flat. He’s progressive enough that he doesn’t believe the Indian way is the only way, but he’s not so progressive that he believes in his sixteen-year-old daughter flaunting her body.

  “Oh, come, T. Maths is fun.” Max laughs and jostles my elbow with his.

  “Says the guy who’s going to be texting me later for answers to the homework.” I roll my eyes but my heart’s not in it. I’ve been doing Max’s maths homework all year and we both expect it now.

  “I have double practice tonight,” Max says.

  “So that means you won’t be texting me until when?” I look at my watch. “Ten-ish?”

  “Maybe?” Max grins and I can’t help grinning back. We’ve been friends since we were paired up for dissecting a pig heart in biology last year, which isn’t even the most unusual thing about our friendship. When Max turned as white as a ghost under his perpetual tan and had to leave the room, I covered for him by telling the biology teacher – and the rest of the class – that I was too distracted working with him, and I sent him to get more slides, so at least that way he was doing something useful. I said it with such disdain that everyone believed me. After all, this was Max Foster we were talking about. Even the teachers weren’t immune to his charms.

  “You know my father hates when I’m on my phone late,” I remind him.

  “Ten o’clock isn’t late,” Max scoffs. “Seriously, you’ve got to learn how to live.”

  “Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “Because doing your homework at ten o’clock at night is living large.”

  “Nah. That’s not what I mean.” Max stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Our fellow students walk around us – it’s a steady stream of blue blazers and grey trousers and skirts into our Manchester suburb every day, punctuated by an occasional black umbrella. Bishop’s Blue Coat is close enough to home that the only transport option is cramming onto a public bus and far enough that the walk feels interminable.

  Or it did before I started walking back with Max. My best friend, Rina, and most of my other friends live in the opposite direction, but Max and his mum live above the florist on the corner of my street, which is pretty convenient.

  “What do you mean then?” I ask, pulling my coat closed against the bitter wind.

  “I mean you’re all caught up in being the good girl that I wonder if you’ve stopped to ask yourself if that’s who you want to be.” Max points to my skirt. “Judging by the whole skirt thing I see you doing every day, I’d guess the answer is no.”

  My face flames. I feel called out in a way that I haven’t since my cousin mocked me for getting my period at his sister’s wedding. Like then, I resort to what I know. “Says the guy who can’t own up to being squeamish in biology lab. Oh right, I forgot. You’re going to be a football star. Biology is for us lesser mortals.”

  Max’s mouth tightens. “Football’s all I’ve got and you know that. But way to throw it in my face, T.”

  Crap. Now I feel two feet tall. I know Max is counting on football to be his ticket out of here. His mum works in a dead-end retail job and his dad is long gone. He’s a C student on a good day, but he’s smart enough to know that academics aren’t going to take him far. Hence his passion/obsession with football. Which I used against him to cover up my own insecurity.

  I let out a sigh. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  Max’s eyes narrow. “For being right or for making you feel bad?”

  “Why does it have to be an either/or proposition?” I let my mouth curve with the beginning of a smile, but I turn serious as I say, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “I’m sorry, too. I don’t want to fight with you.” Max slings an arm around my shoulder. He soon lets go, but not before I inhale his soap and sun boy scent until I feel a little dizzy.

  And not before I miss the warmth and weight of his body on mine when it’s gone.

  Chapter Five

  The charity auction is…fun?

  The men are…hot?

  The women are…gorgeous?

  I’m honestly so distracted I have no idea, but judging by the laughter and whoops from the people in the marquee, there’s a lot of eye candy on display. I’m not even nervous about my turn on the auction block. The only person I pay a little attention to is Max’s teammate Harris, like maybe by studying him, I’ll gain some insight into Max.

  Harris is tall and lean with, quite frankly, an incredible jawline. He looks nervous and his smile flickers, but that only makes him more endearing to the audience. Tilly is downright smitten, and she leans across me to say to Scarlett, “I’ve been a Man City fan my whole life, but Norcastle are looking good to me right now.”

  “They’re looking quite good to me, too,” Scarlett says, then turns to Bradley and says, “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Bradley, who’s being an amazingly good sport about all of this, raises an eyebrow and says, “Who are you kidding? You would eat that guy for dinner and be bored by dessert.”

  “So, what are you saying?” Scarlett narrows her eyes and purses her lips.

  “I’m saying that I think you’re a strong, beautiful woman who needs a strong man.” Bradley grins at her. “Good for you that you’ve got one.”

  “Excellent point. What would I talk about with someone sporty anyway?” Scarlett’s nose wrinkles and she squeezes Bradley’s thigh. “I’d have to learn things about his team and his stats, and then if things went badly, I’d have to be ready to console him.”

  “Oh, the consoling I could do.” Tilly laughs. “Starting with those lips and working my way down.”

  “And then you can tell me all about it. Nothing wrong with living vicariously.” Scarlett wriggles her eyebrows, then turns to me. “What about you? I bet you consoled Max a time or two back in the day?”

  “Max is an old friend.” If only that were all he was. I wonder if I say it often enough if that will make it true?

  “Are you old friends-with-benefits?” Scarlett’s voice lilts. “Is that why you freaked out on me earlier?”

  “I didn’t freak out. I don’t want him to bid on me. Or feel pressured into bidding on me, thank you very much.” Harris glances at us from the stage and I feel a twinge of guilt. He’s supposed to be strutting his stuff and we’re not paying any attention. I lower my voice and say, “Shh. You’re here to ogle, remember?”

  Scarlett rolls her eyes but she turns back to the stage and lets out an enthusiastic whoop as Harris turns around so we can appreciate his rear view. He tosses a smile over his shoulder that’s so easy and open that I don’t realize what I’m doing until Scarlett’s mum, Hannah, who’s acting as the auctioneer, points to my paddle in the air and says, “And we have one hundred and fifty pounds over here to Tara Kapoor.”

  Hannah glances around the room, looking for the next bidder as I hastily lower my paddle. But not before I see Max out of the corner of my eye, looking at me like I’ve stabbed him in the chest and twisted the blade. I avert my gaze, staring straight ahead, and I don’t look away from the stage until Harris saunters off.

  “Six hundred pounds for dinner with a football player?” Bradley shakes his head. “I’m in the wrong business.”

  “Six hundred pounds is nothing. Get your paddle ready because Tara’s up in three.” Scarlett turns to me. “You should go backstage and get ready. Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No. I’m fine. I’m going to walk down a tiny runway, smile, and wave. I think I’ve got it.” I stand up and smooth my red dress over my thighs as I say to Bradley, “If you don’t want to bid on me and feel like giving me the money in my next performance review, that would be okay too.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” Bradley raises an eyebrow.

  I can’t help grinning because, yes, Scarlett’s boyfriend is my boss, and our employer-employee relationship is defi
nitely more relaxed for it. Although, to be fair, Bradley’s relaxed a lot in the past year, and Scarlett gets all the credit.

  I’m still thinking about this as I make my way to where the rest of the “dates” are waiting. A blonde girl in a silver sparkly dress gives me the onceover before saying in a flat Scouse accent, “Ye need to check in over there with the bloke in the plaid tie.”

  I make my way over to him and give him my name in exchange for a sash with the number sixteen on it. For a minute I think about asking him for a different number because the irony feels like it’s slapping me in the face. I was sixteen last time I saw Max and it’s definitely not a lucky number. But then I try to imagine explaining my hesitation and end up shrugging it over my shoulder and going back to stand with the sparkly dress girl.

  She turns around and this time her onceover is so thorough it makes me glad I’m wearing underwear. “So, how much ye hope ye’ll go for?”

  Her accent is so strong, it takes me a second to process what she’s said.

  “Oh, um, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.” Although now that she’s brought it up, it would be embarrassing not to break one hundred pounds. Surely Scarlett will nudge Bradley to bid that much, won’t she?

  “I’m hoping for at least as much as that footballer. I think men bid more than women.”

  “Maybe? I’ve never done this before.” I give her an apologetic look. “I’m not very well prepared so if you have any tips, I’m all ears.”

  Miss Sparkly Dress rolls her eyes – but only a little – and says, “Not much to prepare for. But when yer out there, make sure ye walk slowly. It’s easy to race to get it over with.”

  Right. Good point. I give Miss Sparkly Dress a grateful smile and turn my attention to the small stage and catwalk I can see through the curtain. My pulse has picked up and my hands feel clammy. Now that my entrance is imminent, I wish I’d paid more attention to those “dates” who’d gotten a great reaction from the crowd. Or any reaction from the crowd.